


Never Give a Werewolf a Knife

by archangelgabe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arthur Ketch - Freeform, Case Fic, Cuddling, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Kinda, Mutual Pining, Or not, Sexual Tension, Werewolves, bed sharing, fuck if i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelgabe/pseuds/archangelgabe
Summary: "Alright okay so I had a dream about this and like, I'd write the fic myself but im no good at writing stuff like that: some lady hunter ends up on a werewolf hunt with Ketch, she gets stabbed in the side?? And they're too far from a hospital to do anything about it so Ketch has to do the stitches himself"requested by mothboots on tumblrbasically andrea gets hurt and theyre too far from the hospital. hilarity ensues.
Relationships: Arthur Ketch/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Never Give a Werewolf a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> i hope u enjoy (-:

**i don’t consent to my work being shared on monetised fanfic apps**

“_Who _ thought it was a good idea to give werewolves knives?”

“I don’t think whoever gave them the knives knew they were werewolves,” Ketch tells Andrea.

She presses harder at the slash in her side, glaring at him- or at least doing her best. “How far’s the- the hospital?”

Ketch stops to think for a few seconds before shaking his head. “An hour. I’ll have to do this myself.”

He stands from beside Andrea and panic fills the hunter. “Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah. Where are you going? Arth- Arthur you’re not gonna maroon me, are you?”

“Maroon you-” Ketch scoffs, wanting to tell her how ridiculous she sounds.

That is until he registers the fear in her voice and he sees the look of pure desperation in her eyes.

She’s _ actually _ scared he’ll leave her for dead. Scared that her fate is to bleed out on the floor of a warehouse surrounded by dead werewolves. In any other situation, she’d make a terrible pun about werewolf-warehouse and he’d force out laughter. But not now.

“I’m not going to- I’d _ never _maroon you. Do you trust me?"

Of course, he’d never maroon her. They’ve been working together on this hunt for a few weeks at this point, her making him hunt the old fashioned way. Crappy motel room and all. They like each other, so it hasn’t been torturous. They may even be friends, but neither of them would admit to anything beyond the surface level of friendship. Their time together might have even been fun.

One night they reached a dead end and Andrea made Ketch lighten up and go on some boondoggle with her. She wanted to pass the time. They ended up on the top level of a parking garage, throwing things off the roof to see what would happen. They threw whatever was in their pockets. Neither of them would ever admit they had a good time that night, though. Nonetheless, Ketch would not consider marooning Andrea unless he _ had _to.

“Do I trust you? Honestly, not really,” Andrea shakes her head, looking away from him as he crouches next to her. “But you haven’t given me any reason _ not _ to…”

Ketch sighs, clearing his throat, “Look at me.”

Andrea takes a deep breath before she shifts her gaze back onto him and their eyes meet. “I’m going to go get the first aid kit. I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

She bites her lip, nodding at him once. Before he stands, she reaches out and grabs his sleeve, “There’s a juice box in my car. Can you get it?”

“Of course,” Ketch tells her, nodding and making the trip outside.

While Ketch is gone, the adrenaline starts to wear off and pain comes flooding in. Andrea realizes, in all the commotion, she didn’t notice the werewolf got her in a second spot- her left arm. So she changes her approach to how she puts pressure on her side. Her hand goes to her cut bicep. Then, she presses her lower arm against Ketch’s suit jacket on her side, using the weight she has on her bicep. It’s not an ideal position, but it’s better than her arm bleeding all over.

By the time Ketch gets back, tears are threatening to fall from Andrea’s eyes. She squeezes her eyes shut as he approaches, gritting out, “My arm.”

She lifts her hand enough for Ketch so see and makes the mistake of looking at it, too. The color drains from Andrea’s face as bile creeps up her throat. She turns her head and loses what little food she’d eaten before they left the motel in the morning.

“Oh, dear,” Ketch mumbles as he kneels beside her. “We need to get your eighty-seven layers off to do this. You American hunters with your flannel…”

Andrea rolls her eyes to the best of her abilities. She appreciates him trying to distract her- she does. Tolerating pain was never her strong suit and it shows. “I- How,” Andrea asks, unsure of how she’s supposed to take her flannel and shirt off while keeping the pressure on the wounds. “Nei-neither of my hands are free right now.”

Frustration is starting to seep into Andrea’s voice. She also doesn’t have a high tolerance for being in pain. It pisses her off to be hurting. Of course, Ketch has figured this out, already. She’s awfully clumsy for a hunter. So far, in their time together, she’s closed her hand in a door, stubbed her toe at least twice, and it feels like she’s walked into damn near everything in their motel room.

“Here,” Ketch says, sitting Andrea upright and starting to pull her flannel off. Well, it’s more of a peel. With the way her arms are positioned, the fabric is pulled taut.

It gets caught at her hands, though and she groans, “You gotta do the buttons before-”

He catches on before she finishes her sentence, undoing the buttons at the cuffs of the sleeves. “They- the sleeves are too long so if- if I don’t button them they reach my fingertips,” Andrea tries to explain why the buttons are buttoned on the tightest setting.

Next, they need to get her shirt off. “I- I don’t know how to get this shirt off- there’s no way I’m moving my arms. First of all, I don’t want to see the mess under my hand and- and I really don’t wanna ruin your suit jacket even more than I already have. Second of all, I’m scared of what will happen if I take the pressure off the wounds.”

A knife clicking open startles Andrea, then she sees Ketch holding a knife and frowns at him, “I like this shirt…”

“I’ll get you another,” Ketch offers. “It’s already been cut open… and soaked in blood. But I can assure you it won’t be the end of the world if you _ do _ move your arms to help me out here.”

Andrea doesn’t budge and Ketch sighs, “You… are stubborn. But you’re also bleeding and you have two open wounds so you’re going to need to cooperate here. Let me take care of you.”

She nods, considering her options. “This is gonna need to be a two-man operation. I’ll get it off this arm,” she shrugs her right shoulder, “while you do the pressure on my other arm.”

Ketch nods, not wanting to argue. They really shouldn’t be spending so much time not stitching her up. He replaces Andrea’s hand on her bicep. Then she does an awkward shimmy as she uses her other hand to hold onto her sleeve. She pulls her arm out and the shirt over her head. “I’m- I’m gonna move my arm and put my hand on my side and I need you to pull the shirt the rest of the way off.”

Ketch does so and when his hand leaves her arm, the bleeding has slowed enough to be left alone for now.

“Rest in peace, shirt,” Andrea mumbles, looking at the cast aside remains of her shirt. “Rest in pieces.”

She looks at Ketch, waiting for him to laugh, but he is a bit… distracted.

“Hm,” Ketch hums and Andrea follows his gaze to her bra.

She can’t blame him for ‘hm-ing’. It is a bit… lacy for a hunting bra. Not exactly what one would expect. Maybe because it isn’t a hunting bra. “I didn’t expect to actually do murder-death-kill today,” she mumbles. “And neither did you, clearly.”

Ketch is wearing a suit, as he does fairly often, and at least he has the sense to know a suit is not hunting attire. “It’s… nice,” Ketch tells her while pinching the pink lace which extends from the strap between his thumb and index finger, running his thumb along it.

Andrea flushes, looking away from him, “Oh, come on. Don’t- don’t make it weird. I feel like there are more pressing matters at hand.”

She nods at the blood slowly seeping out of her body before Ketch clears his throat, opening the first aid kit. “You’re not gonna put any of the liquid fire on me, right? Can just skip straight to the next step? And- and- and there’s not gonna be any _ actual _ stitching involved, right?”

“You’re afraid of needles,” Ketch concludes from Andrea’s nervous ramblings.

“Well, when you say it like that…”

“Like what,” Ketch asks.

“All British an-” Her free hand curls into the fabric of Ketch’s sleeve as he cleans her bicep with alcohol, whimpering in pain and sucking in a sharp breath when the burning starts to lessen.

“All British and what?”

She looks at him with a distrustful, pleading look. He’s going to do it again the second she’s distracted by making fun of him for being British and she knows it. 

“All British and-” This time it doesn’t hurt as much as he dabs the wound with the cotton pad. “And stupid. Oh, fancy a spot of tea?”

She puts on her best, worst British accent, then grits her teeth, her grip on Ketch’s sleeve somehow getting even tighter.

“There we go,” Ketch says as he finishes cleaning the wounds. “Good lass.”

He starts to thread a needle as Andrea says, “Don’t call me that. Makes me sound like one of those awful Pokemon trainers you come across in-between towns.”

Then she notices the needle. “Okay, uh, it’s not bleeding that bad. I mean, I seem perfectly fine. Haven’t even lost a lot of blood. If I stand up, I’ll probably pass out but that’s normal for me. Just-”

Ketch cocks an eyebrow at her, silencing her efforts to get out of getting stitches. She swallows her pride and sighs, “Arthur, can you… will you at least hold my hand?”

Ketch wants to object. He does. He can just tell her no. It’ll probably be easier to do with two hands. But he can’t. Something stops him. So Ketch holds his hand out for her to take. Then he starts. They sit in silence, comfortable but not ideal until Andrea speaks.

“You should take me out for a drink after this,” she says, looking anywhere but the gash in her side.

“Why?”

“‘Cause usually it goes the other way around. Guy buys me a drink and _ then _ gets to see my pretty bra,” Andrea looks at Ketch as amused as she possibly could look as the man stabs her with a needle countless times.

Ketch cocks an eyebrow with a playful smirk forming on his face, then he says, “People do things out of order all the time.” 

“Lucky you. I don’t put out on the first date, though. Well, I do. But I say I don’t so when I do the guy feels good about himself for getting me into bed. Kinda levels out the self-loathing from the realization that he just had sex with… _ me _.”

“Hm,” Ketch hums, his gaze drifting from the needle and gash in Andrea’s side to look at her. “Now I know your secret, but I don’t know whether you’ll ‘put out’ on the first date or not.”

She winces as she tries to formulate a response. “You got drugs? Like… pain killers? I love flirting with you, Ketch, but that is not enough to-”

He pokes her with a syringe and has it out before Andrea can realize what’s happening. “Huh. That was easier than I’d expected,” Ketch mumbles. “Pain killer.”

“That’s it. I’m 100% putting out on the first date. Partially because you just drugged me in the best way possible but also I think if I keep you waiting, it’d just lead to disappointment,” Andrea says, looking away.

She doesn’t mean to keep letting these self-deprecating comments slip into their playful flirting. Really. But when she’s in pain her filter is gone. Which also means she’s letting a bit too much of how she feels for Ketch show.

The attraction between them was instant. Maybe it was because he just blew up an entire car and that’s pretty sexy of him, but Andrea liked him before they even spoke to each other. Ketch hardly noticed her at first. From the research the British Men of Letters did on the American hunters, he knew of Andrea. He didn’t expect her to be the sweet person she is, though. He expected someone who, no offense to American hunters, seemed like a hunter. Brasher. Hell, more like the Winchesters. Even though they hardly knew each other at the beginning of the hunt, she still tried her hardest to take care of him. It’s in her nature. Ketch admires that.

“I think you’d be worth waiting for,” Ketch tells her. “You’d be in no condition on the first date- with your side and all. If you wait until the second date, I can tell anyone who may ever ask me whether you actually wait to put out until the second date, you do and you can keep boosting egos.”

“Oh, Arthur, how sweet of you. Bold of you to assume anyone would ask you whether or not I put out, though,” Andrea relaxes some as the pain killer does its work.

“So our first date- getting a drink- is set. What about the second? Something that’ll ‘wow’ my pants off,” Andrea asks.

Neither of them mentions that she doesn’t need to be holding his hand anymore, nor do they need to flirt while justifying it by saying it’s a distraction.

“Somewhere nicer than a bar. Nice enough that you can’t make fun of me for wearing a suit. Nice enough for a lady like you...” Ketch trails off.

Andrea flushes, hardly even noticing Ketch has moved on to bandaging her arm- which he determined doesn’t need stitches, mostly because Andrea will draw the line and not let him give her more stitched. When he finishes he helps Andrea stand, and she gives him a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she tells him. “Next time, remind me to get hurt less than an hour away from a hospital, though. As much as I enjoyed holding your hand and getting stabbed over and over, I think it’s best to leave the stabbing to doctors.”

“Perhaps. Shall we get going? And other people call it stitches, just as an aside...”

“_ You _ owe me a drink, Mr. Ketch. And I need a shirt,” she motions to her half-naked upper torso. “And no I do not have one in my car. _ That _ was my last car-shirt.”

Andrea tears up as she finishes her sentence. Before either of them knows it, tears are streaming down her face. Everything that has happened in the last half-hour finally hits her- and it hits her hard. Ketch seriously may have saved her life. Scratch that. He did. That werewolf was stronger than her and easily could’ve ended her life- or worse turned her. But he saved her. 

“Oh… dear,” Ketch murmurs.

He has never had to _ comfort _ someone. When he kills things it’s just that. Killing things then getting the heck out of dodge. This way of hunting the American hunters do is so much messier in his eyes. He was trained for a lot but not _ this _. But he’s seen movies. He’s read books. As part of the research on the American hunters, he even found himself reading the ‘Supernatural’ books. Ketch figures that if he just tries to do what Sam does he’ll be alright.

So he takes a step towards Andrea and pulls her into his arms, holding her close as she cries. Once her cries die down into sniffles she pulls away from him, putting a healthy amount of space between them.

Ketch watches her carefully, picking out his next words. “Are you alright, love?”

“I’m sorry,” she huffs out a laugh. “I could’ve died and that doesn’t happen to me very often. You’d think being friends with the Winchesters means I die a lot but not really. I rarely get hurt on hunts. Not sure why the shirt set me off but… I guess I was a bit shaken up. I’m sorry. I’m gonna drink my juice.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ketch says, shaking his head. “You should drink your juice. The motel is half an hour away.”

Andrea frowns looking over at her bloody shirts. “And the bar?”

“Fifteen.”

“Okay, I gotta have another shirt somewhere. I can’t wait that long,” Andrea closes her eyes, trying to remember what exactly she has in her car.

“Nothing. I got nothing. I’ll meet you at the bar,” Andrea tells Ketch, pulling her keys out of her pocket.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Ketch reaches out with a hand on her arm. “You shouldn’t be driving. You’re injured.”

“I also shouldn’t be drinking. I’m injured,” she retorts. “Alcohol thins blood, remember? Lotta bleeding goin’ on here. None of what I want to do is a good idea. Ever.”

“Please, for my conscience, let me drive you back to the motel. We can come back for the bike later.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a conscience,” Andrea says.

“I have one. The ends do justify the means when it comes to work, though,” Ketch says, holding his hand out for the keys.

She purses her lips as she looks between her keys and Ketch, sucking in a sharp breath. “Be careful. I don’t have the money for a new car. And- and I’ve formed an emotional attachment to this one, too. Like, the light of my life. And I know that makes me sound like Dean with his- his weird, maybe even sexual, love for his car but… Just-”

“I’m a good driver,” Ketch interrupts.

“And you’ll remember to drive on the right side of the road? ‘Cause, uh, it's been established that you're British and you know…” Andrea looks back at Ketch with a teasing smile on her face, holding the keys out.

When Ketch goes to grab them, she pulls her hand away, “There's a catch, Ketch.”

“Which is?”

“Well, I don't have a shirt, as you can tell. Gimme your stupid jacket,” Andrea says.

The stupid jacket. God, Andrea hates that jacket. When he’s not wearing a suit, he's wearing that jacket. And he just looks _ too _ good in it. Stupidly good. Thus, the jacket is stupid. And in her car, because that's where she put it so he’d stop wearing it.

“You have my jacket, don’t you,” Ketch asks, giving her a bitch face, which is _ not _ what she expected.

Andrea smiles at him, “Perhaps.”

“Okay. Deal. So should we… take care of the bodies?”

“We’ll be outta town long before anyone finds them. Abandoned warehouse, remember?” Andrea motions all around her before pointing at Ketch. “And you can’t judge me for this. I learned everything I know from Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Andrea starts walking, assuming Ketch will be right behind her. On autopilot, she ends up at the driver’s side of her car, feeling around her pockets for her keys. It takes about thirty seconds of that before she realizes that she doesn't have her keys. That she_ just _ gave them to Ketch because they agreed she wasn't driving.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” Andrea says, seeing Ketch standing next to her with an amused smile.

He opens his mouth to speak and Andrea points her finger at him, “Don't you dare.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Ketch tells her as she steps away and walks over to the passenger side.

It takes Ketch a moment to figure out the key, expecting it to be a clicker. It is not. Andrea pulls at the door handle, “Unlock the car.”

“You can't- stop with the handle,” Ketch tells her.

Andrea backs away with her hands up in surrender. “Open the door better.”

Ketch finally unlocks the door and Andrea opens the door to the backseat, feeling around for the stupid jacket. She slips it on, then closes the car door, careful not to close her hand in it- which has happened to her more than she’d ever like to admit.

“You’re changing out of that suit,” Andrea tells him as he starts the car and they begin the half-hour journey back to their motel room.

About fifteen minutes into the drive, Andrea reaches her hands into the pockets and pulls out a handful of bullets and loose change. “Uh, Arthur why are there bullets and coins in your pockets?”

“Convenience,“ he says.

“Well now my hands smell like pennies,” Andrea says, pursing her lips. “I’m putting these in the center console. You can have them back when you leave.”

He scoffs, feigning offense. “Drink your juice.”

“You drink _ your _ juice,” Andrea mocks him, stabbing the straw into the box.

After fighting over the use of the bathroom mirror to clean the blood off their faces and hands, they change clothes in their respective clothes-changing corners. Both feel like they’re seven years old and walking past the bras display at the store. They’re making almost too much of an effort to look away. 

“Okie doke,” Andrea says as she looks over her shoulder to make sure Ketch is fully dressed.

“You ready…” Her eyes widen as she catches sight of his bare arms.

“You… have tattoos,” she notes.

“Yes.”

He picks up the stupid jacket from where Andrea discarded it and starts to put it on, but she stops him, “Wait- woah. No. I showed you mine so you show me yours. Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“I wanna see. That one- it goes under the sleeve. I presume there are more,” Andrea says.

“Or you’re just trying to get me shirtless,” Ketch says.

“Maybe! But also I wanna see the tattoos.”

Ketch sighs, giving in and pulling his shirt off. Andrea blatantly ogles him.

“Are you t-”

Andrea doesn’t let him finish his question. Are you turned on? It makes their flirting… serious. Too serious.

“A little, yeah. Not my fault that I have a type and this…” she waves her hand in front of Ketch, “discovery means you fit the type even more,” Andrea says, only catching her slip up after the words leave her mouth.

“Even more?”

“Look,” she huffs out a laugh trying to come up with something to say as her cheeks flush red. “Bite me, Ketch. Come on, put your shirt on. We gotta go get that drink.”

“I’d take you up on that offer, but I think you’d like it a little too much,” Ketch says. “No, I know you’d like it _ way _ too much”

Andrea can hear the satisfaction of having something to hold over her head in his voice. “Shut up.”

“Now, I’m curious… what _ is _ your type? Tattoos, but what else?”

“Shut up. Who doesn’t love tattoos? Get me drunk first if you’re going to ask me this,” Andrea says, looking anywhere but Ketch as she throws the motel room door open and makes her way back to the car, remembering that she doesn't have the keys this time.

The bar was eventful. Ketch cock-blocked Andrea, but it was fair. They _ were _on a ‘first date’. She doesn’t let Ketch make fun of her for her girly drinks and little umbrellas- which Ketch thinks is adorable. It’s a fun time. She set a one-drink minimum- she already struggles with not choking on drinks when sober, so add alcohol into the mix and it is not a fun time. Of course, she went past that when a guy, Robyrt- which is the stupidest name she has ever heard- offered to buy her one while she was getting Ketch another drink. Which is were the cock-blocking came in. Robyrt was a douchebag anyway. Who spells their name like that?

When they get back, Ketch goes straight to bed while Andrea takes a shower, washing off her blood, werewolf blood, and the stickiness on her skin from the drink she spilled on herself. Of course, she had managed to clean most of the visible blood off herself when she and Ketch were fighting over the use of the mirror, but not all of it. Andrea comes out of the bathroom and stands next to Ketch, poking at his face until he wakes up. When he opens his eyes, glaring at her for waking him she grins, “Hey, Arthur, I wanna cuddle.”

Andrea yearns for affection when she’s drunk, and boy is she drunk.

“You what?”

“I wanna cuddle,” she repeats herself. “Dean and I cuddle all the time. He’s a total sweetheart, believe it or not.”

“You use my toothpaste and sleep in my bed when I’m gone. Now you wake me at 3 in the morning to _ cuddle _. Have you no idea of boundaries,” Ketch asks, closing his eyes again to maintain his tired state.

“If you’re saying no I can go to my own bed and we can write this off as me being drunk, because… well, that shower didn’t sober me up much. You didn’t say no. Are you saying no? I just wanna cuddle… maybe look at your tattoos some more.”

Ketch sighs, hoping it’s too dark in the room for his fond smile to be seen. He lifts the blankets for Andrea to slide under. For a few minutes, she squints at the dark ink on Ketch’s pale skin, trying to make out what it may be, tracing a few while asking what the tattoos are. And it does keep Ketch awake when he doesn’t want to be awake but he’s not complaining. He hasn’t felt such a… gentle touch in so long. One that wants nothing from him. It’s nice, to say the least. Add to that the fact that he feels a certain amount of fondness for the source of the touch, Andrea - and he’s willing to compromise and stay up.

Soon Andrea’s eyes start to droop closed and there’s an audible slur in her speech as she rambles about whatever comes to mind. Ketch laughs through his nose, “Alright, love, come on. Time to sleep.”

Andrea protests going to sleep but none of her words are, in any way, shape, or form, coherent. As she rolls over, Ketch slides his arm under her head, “This alright?”

“Mhm,” Andrea hums. “You’re warm.”

It takes Ketch a moment to make out what she’s saying, “And you’re freezing. Are you sure you’re not dead?”

“I can never get warm,” she mumbles. “If you got a problem with it you can fight me, bitch.”

She chuckles after a moment, “You’re not a bitch. I’m just tired.”

“I can tell,” Ketch says, laughing through his nose.

“You smell good too,” Andrea says after a few moments of silence. “I know I already said that at the bar but please never stop what you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Ketch says. “Your hair is… soft.”

“Thank you,” Andrea says. “It’s called ‘I use conditioner’. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Ketch says.

Both sleep better than they’ve slept in a while, actually getting a full night of sleep. Andrea wakes first but doesn’t move. She doesn’t want to wake Ketch. She reasons that would be rude to wake him, but there’s some selfishness involved. She feels very cozy. When Ketch wakes he doesn’t say anything, unsure whether or not Andrea is awake yet. Eventually, they both know the other is awake, yet neither wants to say anything. Andrea’s the first to speak.

“You awake?”

Ketch clears his throat, “Yes. Are you?”

“Uh- Woah,” she blinks a few times, “You really sound like this in the morning?”

“Yes. Problem?”

“This is the exact opposite of a problem,” Andrea mumbles. “S’nice. And, uh, no I’m not awake. I’m sleep-talking.”

Ketch laughs through his nose, “Figured. Do you want the first shower?”

“I showered last night,” Andrea says. “I don’t think I need another one unless _ you’re _ so gross that it rubbed off on me. You know, cooties and all.”

“I don’t think you can get cooties from touch alone, don’t worry,” Ketch tells her. “How are you feeling?”

“That’s good. No cooties. Uh, mediocre at best if I’m gonna level with you, Arthur. Nothing some ibuprofen won’t fix. Get out of bed on three?”

“Mhm,” Ketch hums.

Andrea counts up to three and they both pull away from each other, getting out of the bed. “Sleep good?”

“Quite,” Ketch nods. “You?”

“Well, I slept more than four hours,” she says, running a hand through her hair to detangle it a bit. “So I think it was a successful night.”

They both stretch and Ketch goes off to shower, digging through his dresser drawers. “I still think it’s crazy for you to unpack.”

“It’s crazy for you not to unpack,” Ketch retorts.

“I’m always ready, though.”

Ketch furrows his brow, “For _ what _?”

“I don’t know,” Andrea shrugs. “But I’m ready. I slept in shoes for twenty solid years. Only reason I stopped was because Dean wouldn’t let me sleep in his bed anymore ‘cause I’m a kicker. Always ready. Now I’m just one step less ready.”

Ketch blinks at her a few times, opening and closing his mouth before pointing at the bathroom with his thumb, “I’m going to go shower.”

Andrea grins. She loves rendering Ketch speechless. While Ketch showers, Andrea takes a walk to the coffee place down the road. Yes, there is a coffee place closer to their motel than a hospital. She pays for their coffee and gets back to the room before he’s out of the shower.

The coffee is too hot to drink so she paces, getting her steps in for the day or something. Andrea figures that by the time Ketch is out it will be cool enough to drink. Maybe too cool. Ketch takes long showers. And it’s also nice to have someone to drink coffee with, but you didn’t hear that from Andrea. Andrea takes the first sip of her drink when she hears the doorknob to the bathroom jiggle- to open it you need to turn it left and pull it up and, somehow, neither of them has gotten the hang of it yet.

Andrea chokes on her second sip when Ketch comes out of the bathroom, coughing to try to clear the coffee from her windpipe. This time, she isn’t choking on her drink because of her complete and utter lack of drinking ability. No. She’s choking because Ketch has the audacity to come out of the bathroom shirtless, which was not expected in the slightest.

“Are you quite alright, love,” Ketch asks.

Andrea nods, still coughing, “Choked.”

She finally finishes coughing and waves at Ketch’s bare torso with an open palm, “Where’s your shirt?”

“I forgot.”

Andrea nods, clearing her throat and standing up. It still feels like there’s coffee in there. “I got coffee.”

Ketch gives her a small smile, grabbing the cup she points to. He stands in front of her, drinking the coffee. Andrea can’t help but notice a few stray drops of water still on him. She drags her tongue over her bottom lip, which is something she picked up from Dean, just staring at the water droplets before she clears her throat again, “You, uh… you missed a couple.”

“Huh?”

“Water,” Andrea points at the droplets. “Missed some. Um- Are you standing closer than normal? I feel like you’re standing really close to me.”

Andrea flushes at the proximity. She feels sort of ashamed. Sure, it has been a while since she got laid but she doesn’t think it’s been a get-turned-on-from-a-man-standing-close amount of time. Maybe it’s just Ketch.

Andrea looks up to find Ketch already looking at her, his eyes boring into hers, causing her face to heat up even more. He leans in- not enough to mean anything but enough to mean… something. Andrea’s eyes flicker down to Ketch’s lips, but not fast enough for Ketch to miss the movement. Ketch does the same, now leaning in enough to mean _ something _. 

His phone goes off, the text tone filling the quiet, tense room. Ketch sighs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the phone. When the phone dings again, it’s enough to put a few more inches of space between them, Andrea instinctively moving to check the phone before she stops herself.

“It’s hot in here. Is it hot in here?” she breaks the silence, fanning herself with her hand with a nervous smile.

“I think it might just be you,” Ketch says, his tone teasing mixed with a… different implication. 

He finally takes a step back. Andrea can imagine how she looks- fanning herself dramatically. Luckily, Ketch’s phone starts to go off, so he answers it, granting Andrea reprieve. And, boy, does she need it.

While Andrea cools down she overhears Ketch’s quiet conversation. All his replies come off very curt, almost as if he doesn’t want to be on that call. When he hangs up the call he’s… huffy, mumbling insults toward the caller.

Ketch finally puts a damn shirt on and suddenly Andrea’s ability to focus on something that isn’t him comes back, so she goes out on a limb. “You know, we still have a couple days paid for on the motel. I know we already finished the hunt, but…”

“That was work,” Ketch replies. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid duty calls.”

Andrea’s smile falters, “Oh, yeah. Right. No, I get it. Yeah. Work.”

She scratches the back of her neck, looking anywhere but Ketch. It’s not rejection, but it sure does feel like it. “I should go. Long drive ahead and I’ll probably need to stop to check on my side, ‘cause I’m a bad driver and kinda, like, turn the wheel with my entire body.”

“You don’t need to leave just yet,” Ketch says, frowning.

“I think I should,” Andrea says. “Unless you, uh, you’re in the mood and wanna have a quickie on the table, then I think I could stay a bit longer. Otherwise, I’ll call you?”

Andrea’s eyes widen. Okay, where is her filter? He put a shirt on. There’s physical distance between them. She should be able to _ not _ say something like that. If he says something, she can brush it off as an attempt to lighten the mood, which does work, earning a smirk and a nod from Ketch. His phone goes off again, but this time he sends it straight to voicemail. Andrea cracks a sad smile, “Next time, huh?”

“Next time.”

She doesn’t miss the hopeful glint in Ketch’s eyes as he speaks and for the first time, it occurs to her that maybe, just maybe the friendly flirting, the friendly intimacy, the friendly glances are a bit more than just friendly.


End file.
